


Pax Instituta

by grey_waters



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Institute Ending, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, The Institute (Fallout)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27380356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey_waters/pseuds/grey_waters
Summary: The Institute has crushed its enemies and secured its future. The Director creates a new program, where Institute technology is used to aid certain settlements in exchange for those settlements providing resources to the Institute. But what it is actually like to live in a settlement that's under Institute rule? And what if a settler wants something more?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

"Synths incoming!" came the call from the other side of the house. I hurried over and could just make out the group of robots coming up the road.  
"Shouldn't you have seen them first? Little miss sentry." Johnny teased. "I can only look in one direction at once." I replied. "Besides, I'm surprised you saw 'em at all, given how much time you spend staring into a bottle." He chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You looked through the pile already?"   
"Yup." Maggie had brought in a pretty big haul this month, but nothing I wanted to keep. She'd gotten lucky with a programmer's house a few days ago - maybe the synths would want the circuitry from there?  
The synths were close to our settlement by this point. In the lead, as usual, was the black-coat-clad courser. We'd left the salvage in a pile near the house's entrance. He paid us no attention before kneeling to sift through it, muttering into his earpiece and holding different things up to his little camera. The robots flanked him, laser pistols at their sides, blank gazes sweeping over the homestead. Intimidation, mostly - we all knew that the courser could kill us all himself. The Institute made sure we knew that well.  
After a few minutes, the courser had sorted some items into a small pile. He gestured and one of the synths scooped the pile up. The synth teleported away - damn, that was bright. I rubbed my eyes before noticing that the courser had turned to look at me.  
"Anything to report?"  
"No sir." I replied, my mouth a little dry. There was something about having those coursers stare at you. Like being a mouse watched by a cat.  
"Any hostiles sighted?"  
"There was a group on the road to the south a while ago. Looked like raiders, but they were pretty far away. They didn't come near us."  
"Good." He nodded to the Institute flag which stirred in the breeze. "They know not to trouble a place under our protection."  
"Yes, sir."  
"A synth detachment will be here a week from now to collect crop data." And with that, he turned, nodded to his guards, and they all teleported away. Behind me, I heard Maggie come out of the house and kneel to look at the pile.  
"What'd they take?" I asked.  
"Electronics. Plastics. Aluminum. The usual." Maggie replied. "Maybe one of the caravans will buy this." She held up a battered silver locket.  
"Yeah... maybe." And maybe they'd buy it for almost nothing, like they did with all our salvage. I left Maggie there and returned to the watchtower to gaze north. Behind me, I could hear the flapping of the flag and the soft whirring of the laser turret.  
Just another day at Outpost Zimonja.


	2. Chapter 2

Later that afternoon, I stepped down from the eastern tower and plodded back towards the house. In a normal settlement we'd need a night watch, but the courser was right. In the places I'd lived in the past, you'd get attacked every couple months. I've been here about a year, and we've only had one raider attack and a skirmish with a wandering mole rat pack.

There's a story, I heard a few months ago. Passed along the caravans and travellers. It goes like this: Institute Settlement down south - Overlin Station, I think it was called? - had one of their number kidnapped by raiders. Standard ransom ploy, but their price was massive. Settlers called Radio Horizon. Before nightfall the hostage was escorted back to Overlin by a squad of synths. When one of the settlers asked how they found her, the synth said "We know where you all are, at all times."

Now, caravanners do love their tall tales. But who knows what the Institute is really capable of?

I reached the house and stepped inside. Tom was sitting in his chair, reading a magazine.  
"Hey, Tom."  
"Hello there, Rachel." His voice was feeble as usual. I looked at his grey hair, his wrinkled skin, and felt a tang of pity. Living so long just to end up like that...  
"Did the robot do anything?"  
"Just the usual. Picked through our haul." He grunted and returned to his magazine. I flopped down on the couch and took in the room. The faded couch, the table and chairs with a battered radio... it's more of a leisure space than I've seen previously, I guess. Some places you're lucky if anything but the beds is under a roof. I switched on the radio and returned to the couch, listening to the smooth jazz. As the song came to a close, the familiar, clipped female voice took its place.  
"Good evening. The time is 4:42 PM and this is Radio Horizon. The voice of the Institute, reclaiming the land in-"  
"-27 locations across the Commonwealth." Johnny finished, striding into the house. "You'd think she'd get tired of saying that by now."  
"Could be a synth." I replied. He tilted his head briefly before turning to Tom.  
"Hey, dad. How was your day?"  
"Fine." Tom said quietly. "You really didn't need any help with the corn?"  
"It's growing fine, dad. These Institute crops are hardier than what we used to work with." There was a little tinge of admiration in his voice.  
"That's good. You ever need help, you ask, alright?" Tom muttered.  
"Yes, dad." Johnny replied patiently. The old man leaned back, his eyes already closed. Probably halfway to a nap by now. Johnny sighed and dropped his bag on the ground. "You eaten yet?"  
"No." It'll be corn, mutfruit and jerky as usual. The extra food we bought from caravans is all eaten by now, and none of us are cooks.  
"Well, I'll start the water boiling. And then... the highlight of the month!" His voice took on a laughingly dramatic tone. "The most high-stakes poker game this side of the damn Diamond City!"  
"You better get ready, Johnny." Maggie said, stepping through the doorway. "I'm taking that trip to Tenpines and you can't stand in my way." Johnny snorted and grabs the bucket. As he left for the pump, he called back "Hope you've been practising your poker face!"

In the past, we just used to draw straws to determine who got to go down to Tenpines to do the trading each month. That's one of the Institute's aggravating rules - only one person can be away from the settlement at a time. But then Maggie found a deck of cards and Johnny taught us both how to play poker. I'm not very good, but so far no one's had a winning streak when it comes to these games, so I guess it's working out.  
After eating supper, Johnny brought out the deck. The sun's already close to the horizon - we'll need to play quickly if we want to keep daylight. Radio Horizon proudly announces every time a settlement gets electric lights, but our windmill powers nothing but the laser turret.

The game goes well. Eventually it's just down to me and Maggie, Johnny having gone bust. We've got about equal piles and the light is fading.  
"Next hand wins?" Maggie offers.  
I grin. "Prepare to be obliterated." We both draw our cards. Maggie throws down... a pair of fours. I slap down my pair of nines in triumph. She groans. 

"Tenpines, here I come!"


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, we go through the salavage pile to pick out what looks valuable. Trinkets... adhesives... damn, looks like the synths took most of the metal stuff again. The rest of the salvage gets dumped in the storage shed, for Maggie to use in a repair.

I load the salavage into the sturdiest backpack we have and set off on the trail. I say "trail" because not many people come up to Outpost Zimonja from Tenpines, so it's not really a road. The sun is hot as I walk west under the shadow of the overpass, then south along the rusted railway. I have my pipe rifle at the ready, although that's mostly because of the large backpack.

After about two hours, I finally see the roofs of Tenpines Bluff in the distance. As a large farm, they have a proper wall around their buildings, unlike us. I yelled "Hellooooo!" as I approached and saw one of the guards - Roald, I think? - climb the tower to look at me.

"Zimonja!" he yells happily. "Good to see that old radio tower hasn't fallen on your heads!" I chuckle and climb the hill, making my way around to their gate.

"The next caravan should be here any day now." says Gunther, the grinning bartender. "You have good timing!"

"Yeah, maybe I'll even make enough to buy some of your watered-down beer." I tease. He huffed in exaggerated outrage.

It's a strange hospitality that we Institute settlers extend to one another. In a normal village, you don't owe anyone anything. But with more food, steady water, and less attacks... I guess people feel a little better. Up at Zimonja, we've only had the odd traveller coming south or going north. But here at Tenpines, it's like I'm one of them. And the same laser turret (although they have two), the same water pump design... even the buildings look similarly constructed... this place does look a lot like Zimonja. But definitely bigger.

In fact, the next caravan arrives the very next day. It's run by a skinny little guy who calls himself Sharp-Eye Joe. He's only got two guards with him, so he must be new or on hard times - the big traders have four or five guards to keep a proper perimeter around the Brahmin. Sharp-Eye Joe plays the tough-guy when we get down to business, but he ends up taking the locket, all the adhesive stuff, and even the busted lighter. All in all I get about a hundred caps, which is better than average. Hopefully Joe makes this a regular stop... and hopefully he doesn't get better at bartering. I split the caps into three equal pouches and put two of them in my sack. As for my share, I decide to spend a little on some drinks from Gunther. His little food-stand is set up with some patio chairs nearby, and as the evening falls I relax in one with a nuka-cola.

Joe and his guards decided to stay at Tenpines for the night, although - typical of paranoid caravaneers - they assign one person to stay with the Brahmin. The rest crowd around the campfire, laughing with us and sharing tales. Caravan types aren't so bad when they're not doing business, really.

"Hey, you guys wanna hear something weird?" slurs one of the guards. His face is flushed as he waves his bottle of moonshine. "I was in Diamond City a month or so ago-"

"Still trying to get that waitress girl to fall for you? Give it up, man." teases another guard.

"Shut up!" the first one laughs. "Anyways, I was in Diamond City, and you know the Institute store?"

I do not, in fact, know the Institute store, but the other guards react as if they've all seen it.

"Yeah," the storyteller continues, "so they had this big sign up saying they were buying weapons and armour. I went inside and they had this big list on the wall with prices. They were basically buying anything better than a pipe gun and leather armour!"

"So did you sell your gear?"

"Hell no!" He gestures to his hunting rifle. "Some guard I'd be, shooting at raiders with dinky little .38 rounds. You gotta wonder what they want with all that ordinance, though."

What indeed. This is the first I've hold of the whole thing.

Eventually the fire dies down and we run out of beer. Or rather, I decide not to spend any more on beer. I make my way over to their house building - that's another thing they've got that we don't, separate buildings for work and sleep - and lie down on the spare mattress. Sleep comes quickly.

The next morning, I slowly exit the house, rubbing my eyes. Although I only had a few beers, I don't get to drink very often, so I'm not very good with hangovers.

Suddenly, I see them. The familiar forms of the institute robots, piling stuff into a cart. And approaching me-

My mouth goes dry as I realise that a courser is walking right up to me.

"Ah, you're awake. Just in time." he says in his low monotone. "You're from Zimonja, correct?"

It takes me a second to respond. "Y-yes."

His face is expressionless. "The Institute has greater need of raw materials. Because of this, we are now requiring settlers under our protection to hand over all salvage not used in the maintenance of the settlement. A synth work group should already be at your settlement, so no need to hurry back." There is a hint of sarcasm in that - he knows I'm not in a condition to hurry anywhere.

"Wh... what about money for clothes, and tools and stuff?" I stammer.

"The Institute is evaluating options. Rest assured that you will have your needs met." With that, the Courser turns and strides away.

My head swims. Sure, we have food, water and beds back there but... no caps to spend? How hard will it be to adjust?

"Wait!" I call to the Courser. "What are you even doing with all that stuff?"

The Courser smiles. It reminds me of a picture I once saw, of a shark.

"We're building the future."


End file.
